Can't Say No
by Lola Hard
Summary: *Jazz/Prowl, G1, challenge fic* How do you know if it’s real love when your malfunction simply doesn’t allow you to say ‘no’? Prowl has a big problem, and Jazz’s affection for him isn’t helping things… Full info and warnings inside.
1. Chapter 1

**Pairing:** Jazz/Prowl

**Rating:** NC-17

**Warnings:** bad language, violence, slash (mech/mech), graphic sex (of a sticky and spark-merging kind), dub/non-con, bondage

**Summary:** This is a challenge fic written for the Transformers Kink Meme. The original request demanded roughly the following, "Prowl has a glitch that doesn't allow him to say 'no' when someone wants to interface with him, in this particular case – Jazz." Well, here goes…

**A/N:** This is one big experiment, to see if I can write something as wild as this prompt, with a pairing I've never done before and preferably with a happy ending. Huge thank-you to _**StormDracona**_, who is kindly beta-reading it for me :)

**Disclaimer:** Don't own the characters, and only partially own the plot… Not much, but still, I'm a happy writer :)

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_**Chapter 1**_

Prowl sharply let the air out of his vents with frustration. "I don't. Need. Your. Help, lieutenant. Do I have to get this down in hand-writing for you to understand that I would like to stay _alone_ and finish working with this data _on my own_, in peaceful solitude and blessed silence?"

He glared at the mech that stood motionlessly in the doorway of his office and watched the tactician with mild shock and some undecipherable emotion on his face.

The silence was deafening.

"I jus' asked if ya needed a hand Prowl, that's it," Jazz finally said in a quiet voice, and Prowl's spark contracted at the hurt he heard in that tone. "See ya later, man." That said, Jazz slowly turned around and left the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

Prowl put his elbows on the desk and cradled his face in his palms, his optics offlined, a low groan of anger and helplessness on his lips.

He was an epitome of a jerk. Everyone on the Ark considered him a prude, an uptight dork disinterested in anything that wasn't tactics and strategy, with no friends and real purpose in life. And what was even worse, he was behaving like that deliberately; because he was also an epitome of dysfunctional.

He cursed his own stupidity and stubbornness that had led him to hold back the information on his health status from medics when Optimus had started preparing a team of Autobots for the Earth mission. He'd foolishly assumed that such a glitch in his system like lack of energy control wouldn't get in the way of his duty. How wrong had he been… From then on it only progressed. While at the beginning he was having mild troubles with keeping his spark reactions to other mech's affections in check, now he just needed the slightest of nudges to turn into a sex psycho, no matter the time, or place, or even person…

He'd successfully kept all of that a secret, until Bumblebee made a half-joking move towards him, and in the matter of minutes it had resulted in the madness of frantic grabbing that had frightened them both. Prowl had to come clean then, and made the scout promise he wouldn't tell anyone of their little encounter.

So, as of now, only Bumblebee knew how much of a glitch he was. The young 'bot was keeping his promise, and the other Autobots were blissfully unaware. And that was fine with Prowl. They'd be disgusted if they knew, without doubt, and he didn't need that.

But that wasn't helping the fact that, thanks to the same glitch, Jazz's attention was sending Prowl's processor into a confused state. The saboteur was clearly trying to spend more time with him, was starting friendly conversations with him, and had even offered to have energon together a couple of times…

Prowl growled again. All of that was making him _weak,_ a slave of an invisible enemy that was himself.

So he'd chosen to be a rude jerk. The best way to make the others keep their distance he could think of.

_**x-x-x**_

With a cube of energon in his hand, Jazz sat down at one of the tables in the Ark's mess hall. Usually at this time of day this place could be considered one of the most popular spots on the entire base. Strangely, there was no one around. Maybe it was good, because the saboteur could just relax, "in peaceful solitude and blessed silence," as Prowl had put it only several breems ago.

Jazz smiled to his thoughts.

He had always been known as a very patient mech. In fact, he was an epitome of patience. Because if you are a special ops officer, you got to be ready to wait however long it takes, to do your job. That included collecting information, planning, and sometimes such fragged duty as lying in ambush for days in absolute radio silence. He'd had _vorns_ to exercise patience.

That and he had short memory when it came to offences. He just couldn't stay really mad really long. Well, life has way more interesting things than hate. Besides, hate does more damage to the hater than to the one it's directed at. So, despite having been so rudely shoved out of Prowl's office, by the time Jazz reached the mess hall he was back into his cheerful self, his processor lazily going through the details of his last mission.

He was almost done with his energon cube when Prowl showed up. Jazz's gaze was instantly glued to the tactician, who made his way to the energon container and got himself a helping, and then glanced around the room briefly.

One would think that, considering the lack of any other mechs around, it would be natural for him to join the only other occupant of the room – Jazz. But Prowl resolutely headed to the opposite corner of the room, and sat there, not even acknowledging the lieutenant's presence.

O-kay…

The rigidness in Prowl's pose was obvious to Jazz. Someone might have thought it to be the tactician's usual state, but he couldn't fool the saboteur who'd had a special eye for this particular mech for some time now…

Jazz's visor covered optics secretly watched as Prowl tilted his head back to swallow the energon, exposing his throat in the process and thus making the saboteur forget about his own lunch completely. How Jazz wished he could nip at that throat and feel Prowl's moans vibrate through every cable he could reach with his lips……

Jazz chuckled mentally. Prowl may be a pain in the aft, but Jazz himself was stubborn enough to match him, and then some.

He could wait. However long it took.

_**End of Chapter 1**_

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_**A/N:**_ _Thank you for reading. Review please and tell me what you think :) Be safe, see you in the next chapter._


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N:**_ _Whoa, you guys- damn, you're fantastic :) Thanks so much for all your reviews, subscribes, alerts and favorites, as well as the ninja-style reads. I cherish your support and attention :) Here goes chapter two. __**StormDracona**__, thanks for your beta work :)_

_**Warnings:**_ _This is a __**Mature**__ fic, as in __**Adult**__. And this is robotic sex we're talking about, so beware! …Okay, if you're still reading this it means that's exactly what you've come here for… Well then, on to reading._

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_**Chapter 2**_

Prowl had honestly thought he had everything under control. He had been absolutely sure he could deal with any challenge his life as a second-in-command could throw at him.

Then the first bomb dropped.

Because, how do you call a situation where you find yourself away from your base, in a deserted canyon, with your hands magnet-cuffed above your helmet to a rusty fuselage of a crashed human airplane, and your team's third-in-command looming over you?

Waves of arousing heat were coming from Jazz, and Prowl didn't need to see past that visor to know the saboteur's optics were wild with desire and focused only on him, their faces inches from each other.

"I have a theory, Prowl, correct me if I'm wrong," Jazz began in a low hoarse voice that sent shivers down Prowl's spine cord. "You ain't a social figure. Ya snap at every living spark that crosses the threshold of yer office. Ya seem ta be a lone cyber-wolf… But are ya really one? How come a handsome mech like you has no lovers?" Jazz's hands brushed Prowl's chest plates, making his knee joints grow weak. "Maybe ya just haven't met a mech yet who'd give ya what ya really want?" The saboteur's body leaned into Prowl, pushing him slowly and firmly against the discolored side of the broken machine that would never fly again. "The way I see it, ya just don't want cautious an' ya don't want courteous- Ya want someone who'd come and take their prize, and that prize is you… Am I right?"

The last sentence was barely a whisper, and Prowl felt his spark pulsing inside his chest rapidly, frantically, madly. He could feel Jazz's mouth lightly tracing his jaw line, but couldn't produce even a small sound, his systems unable to function straight. What the slag was Jazz talking about? This was insane; he wasn't making any sense...!

"Say no…" Jazz's lustful voice caressed Prowl's audios, and those excruciating lips were on his throat, cutting off the air circulation in his vents with only the faintest of touches. "Just one word, Prowl, an' I'll back off."

_Slag, no! _The tactician's processor screamed mutely.

But he couldn't bring this sound into existence.

"Ah-!" his vocalizer hissed. To Prowl's utter shock and embarrassment, his hips rocked forward pleadingly, making Jazz moan into his neck. This couldn't be happening… And yet it was.

"…_Yes_…" the tactician finally breathed.

Next thing Prowl knew, Jazz was all over him.

Those hands were maddening, running circles on his sides, and Prowl growled heatedly, pressing closer into that hot body, crazy and hungry. Now _he_ was kissing, and Jazz was gasping against him, opening that sweet mouth and offering his glossa to play with. Oh, Saint Matrix, this wasn't right, he _couldn't_ be doing this…! And yet he was.

Jazz gripped Prowl's hips with strong hands and tugged them to himself possessively, pushing their cod-pieces even closer together. With a desperate moan, Prowl wrapped his legs around the saboteur, meeting him halfway. Jazz's mouth formed a silent shocked 'oh' at the sensation, and his head fell back for a moment in bliss, the action erotic and breathtaking. _Yesss…_

They were now grinding against each other and scratching the front of their armor in a savage excuse for foreplay. Two black palms cupped Prowl's aft and gave it a _squeeze_ that made his entire lower half tremble as a hot wave of lust rolled through him. Prowl's valve wanted to be _filled_ with this mech that had dominated him; his spark craved for that energy that was pulsing under the saboteur's chest plates.

As though reading his thoughts, Jazz broke their hungry kiss to rasp out shortly and demandingly, "Open up."

It was as if Prowl's processor had been programmed to obey each and every order that fell from those lips. Before he could react, his chest plates slid apart, exposing the soft blue glow of his pulsing and twitching center. Jazz mirrored his actions, and they both were engulfed in the combined light of their sparks. Not loosing another moment, Jazz pressed their chests together, causing the first electric charge between their sparks, before their energies started merging and twining. Simultaneously, the saboteur gripped Prowl's hips tighter, holding him in place with Prowl's legs firmly wrapped around his hips, and let his spike extend, smoothly entering the submissive mech's valve in the same movement…

They both stilled for a second, finally connected with each other, and then the two pleasure filled groans ripped themselves from their throats in chorus.

Prowl was experiencing an intoxicating feeling of finally coming home. The places where their bodies were touching seemed to burn. It had been so long since he'd been this close to another mech; he'd forgotten what it felt like. He'd wanted to cry, to stop it, to get his hands free and push Jazz away – but this felt _so_ good, he couldn't remember why he'd wanted to do all that in the first place…

And then Jazz pulled out of him, and entered him again, starting a slow rhythm.

_Primus…_

This feeling of being filled completely, in more than one way… He could feel the energy from Jazz's spark flowing through his circuits, tingling teasingly in the smallest knots of his nervous grid; he could feel tremors going through Jazz's hips each time he went so deep into him; he could feel Jazz's teeth grazing his neck so, so carefully, and he couldn't help the desperate whines and moans that were being ignited in his throat.

"Sweet Matrix, yer so hot like this, Prowl…" Jazz whispered huskily into his audio, and the tactician found himself drowning in another wave of arousal at that intimate sound. "Yer drivin' me crazy… can ya feel it?"

Prowl's chest was on fire, his body penetrated and charged with Jazz's energy and ready to explode, and now every stroke of Jazz's spike was sending small electric shocks into the deepest part of his valve. "Ooohhh…" Prowl half-groaned half-cried at the feeling, unable to hold back.

Jazz growled softly into his neck, his mouth attached to the sensitive wiring there, pushing harder and faster into him. "Make that sound again, Prowl… please…"

And Prowl couldn't _not_ do it. He moaned, and mewled, and cried, until he couldn't take it anymore.

"Together… now," Jazz muttered, and after two more thrusts they became an electric unity, buzzing and crackling, screaming and shrieking their almost painful dual release, their optics unseeing, bodies spasming…

The electrical surge shorted Prowl's magnetic cuffs, and his arms fell limply to his sides. The two mechs sank to the ground, Jazz still pressing Prowl to himself with the last remnants of his strength.

In a tangle of weakened limbs, they both off lined immediately.

_**x-x-x**_

Jazz had honestly thought he had everything figured out. He had been absolutely sure he knew his teammates better than they knew themselves.

Slag.

On his lonesome way back to the Autobot base he'd been wondering what in the Pit had made Prowl run away from him. Was he that bad of a lay, or had Prowl forgotten to turn off the energon machine in his office...?

Jokes aside, this was not cool. Not cool at all. After the fantastic overload he and Prowl had experienced before, one would think something would change between the two of them for the better. And yet, when the saboteur had regained his consciousness and on lined his optics, he'd found the second-in-command lying on top of him with an unreadable look on his handsome face. Jazz had decided he could really get used to waking up like that…

"Hey, baby," he'd whispered with a smile, and reached one hand towards Prowl's cheek. But before he could touch the warm metal of his lover's skin Prowl had bolted to his feet, trembling, his body language speaking of panic and fear. This was _not_ the reaction Jazz had been aiming for. The saboteur had opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, but Prowl was already transforming and racing away in the unknown direction as if the entire fleet of Decepticon seekers were shooting all their arsenal at him.

Before he knew it, Jazz had been left in the desert alone and confused before heading on his way back to the base.

He kept guessing sullenly until he reached the Ark, and ran into Bumblebee in the hall. The minibot looked at him strangely, then grabbed him with both arms and practically hauled him into the yellow Autobot's private quarters.

"'the slag's with ya, 'Bee?" Jazz grumbled, not in the best of moods for any kinds of pranks or jokes.

The minibot closed the door and turned to the black-and-white 'bot; there was no usual peacefulness in his gaze.

"A better question, Jazz," he muttered. "'the slag's with _you_? It's rare that you and Prowl get a mission assignment together from Optimus, but it's even rarer that Prowl cuts his duty short with no particular reason. He came back from your _pair_ patrol not fifteen breems ago, _and_ without his _partner_, might I add," the way Bumblebee said it made it clear he meant Jazz. "He was lucky I was the only one to see him barge into the base with wild optics and scratched chest plates, and his state actually made me question his well-being. And you know what? I think I know what happened," he poked an accusing finger into Jazz's chest.

The saboteur was speechless. He raised both hands in a peaceful gesture. "Now, wait a click, bud. I'm not followin' ya here."

"How far did you go?" Bumblebee quickly asked.

"Huh?" The black-and-white mech tried to understand what was going on. "Whatcha talkin' about, 'Bee?"

"Did you interface with him? Yes or no," the minibot demanded.

"…Yes, I did!" Jazz finally said with irritation, his voice getting a bit louder. "But this ain't yer business, an' I don't see how-"

The usually cheerful 'Bee suddenly swearing a blue streak cut Jazz's words off.

A pause followed, and then the explanation. Bumblebee told him everything.

And Jazz found out just how much he _didn't_ know about his teammates, especially Prowl. And he found out he might have just forced himself onto the person he was in love with…

Slag…

_**End of Chapter 2**_

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_**A/N:**_ _I still can't believe I actually wrote this… 0_0 *hides blushing like a tomato* Thanks for reading :) And please review, your opinion means a lot to me. Be safe guys, and see you all soon._


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N:**_ _Aww, thanks a lot for all your reviews and attention, guys. I really appreciate it :) Here is another chapter for you. I would post this sooner, but I was a little busy drinking with a bunch of my friends at my b'day party :) Hopefully, those of you who had some questions after the previous part will get the answers in this one. Hugs and coos to __**StormDracona**__, who is beta-reading this kid for me ^_^_

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_**Chapter 3**_

Prowl had never felt so bad…

…because he had never felt so good.

His logical processor wasn't _built_ for this- this _confusing_ tangle of emotions.

This must be how mechs go insane.

What had happened in the canyon had been wonderful; he'd never felt anything like that. Even _thinking_ about it made his spark jerk and heat up in his chest… But when he woke up, on top of Jazz… when the saboteur gave him that tired, satiated smile… He got scared. Really scared.

How could it happen? How could his own body betray him like that?

How could something so wonderful be a result of a dysfunction…?

He'd never considered himself a coward – but he had run away, before Jazz could touch his fingers to his cheek, before reason could leave him again…

Bumblebee had obviously enlightened Jazz about Prowl's problem. Jazz tried to talk to him; probably to apologize, but Prowl didn't want to listen… No, he _wanted_ to listen and to talk, but he was afraid to come near the saboteur ever again. He didn't know whether what he felt towards Jazz was real, or only a surrogate reaction of his glitch-fried processor. So he refused to talk. And after several attempts to get to him Jazz realized he wasn't going to have an audience, and respected his decision. Their relationship returned to perfectly professional, like it should have been in the first place. No offerings of help and energon, no friendly chatter. Only a small silent nod of acknowledgement, instead of a verbal greeting every morning. Prowl could feel Jazz's optics on himself occasionally, but couldn't meet that gaze. He couldn't allow himself to be weak.

Bumblebee had approached Prowl once, the minibot's face unusually worried and solemn. "Prowl, I know it's not my business, but-" his open gaze shifted for a second, and then settled on Prowl's face. "Jazz is trying to act like nothing is wrong, but- he's really suffering…"

"What do you suggest? There is nothing I can do about it. You know I can't meet him in person, for obvious reasons," Prowl snorted coldly without even the trace of humor. Yes, if they met in person, they'd end up in berth, fragging each other's wits out, whether they wanted it or not. And he wasn't sure _what_ he wanted anymore.

"I- I could pass him a message, if you'd like," the yellow 'bot suggested.

Prowl watched his friend for a moment, considering the offer, and then spoke softly.

"…Tell him… Tell him I don't blame him, but it was a mistake. It can't happen again… Thank you, Bumblebee."

And that was it.

Prowl now had one more activity to add to his daily duties – pushing any kinds of thoughts about Jazz out of his processor that seemed suddenly focused solely on the saboteur. And he was succeeding, bit by bit, suppressing the memories of that canyon as best as he could. His spark wasn't fluttering as frantically as it used to anymore, whenever he met Jazz in the briefing room or in the mess hall. He was slowly returning to what could be considered normal in his situation...

And then the second bomb dropped. This time, literally…

It was an ambush, and the Autobot supply convoy that was moving across the desert towards the base under Jazz's supervision found itself under the Decepticon cross-fire.

Prowl was in his office, working on the data from the last recon mission, when the encoded frequencies that all Autobot officers used were cut through by Jazz's shouts for 'immediate assistance', followed by the shriek that made the fluids in Prowl's circulation lines freeze.

The tactician paid no mind to the data pad that fell from his hands and crashed to the floor. He was already at the door, yelling orders into his comm. link and getting the reinforcements group ready as the alarm siren's bellowing whine echoed from the walls of the Ark.

_**x-x-x**_

Jazz had never felt so fragged…

That was probably because he had never _been _so fragged, yeah.

They'd thought this route was secure enough, that the enemy didn't know about it… It was supposed to be a routine operation, and while the convoy had been moving slowly to the base he'd kept silently lamenting over such a boring time-killing…

Then the Decepticon seeker fleet fell from the clear sky like cyber-hawks, firing at them with crazy abandon. And all hell broke loose…

It was smart, he had to admit. It was practically a slaughter of the sparklings, seeing as there were no fliers in his team to match their speed and reflect their attacks. All that the Autobots had left to do was trust their marksmanship and pray.

Mirage had reacted immediately, activating his cloaking device and hiding in plain view. A couple of clicks later Jazz had located him by the well-timed and well-aimed bursts of his blaster that bit a piece off Skywarp's wing, making the seeker retreat to the sidelines.

Jazz wasn't so lucky. While calling in for reinforcements, he managed to avoid the first round of bullets from Thundercracker's guns, but Starscream following with his own load of crap right after got him. It was like a slagging _rain_ of pain all over his body, dozens of pieces of metal piercing his chest, arms and legs, and lodging themselves deep within, tearing his insides and short-circuiting a number of conductors and wires.

He fell heavily on his back, his optics flickering in and out, his blaster falling from his trembling fingers.

Ignoring a storm of warnings flooding his central processor, he tried to make sense of what was going on.

The fight raged on around him. He could hear the shouts of his comrades, and by the sound of it they were scattering around the area to make harder targets for the jets. Good boys, they knew what to do, even if he was down.

Jazz lifted his head and looked at himself. He was covered in his own fluids, and it didn't look good. With his circulation lines shredded like this, he couldn't transform, because in that case his juice was likely to pour out of him in one go like from a fragging bucket. And then he'd be beyond fragged…

He let his head fall back to the ground. Slag, he needed a medic.

His head was swimming. All he could do was listen to the sounds of the battle and look into the serene sky. He hated feeling himself a useless pile of metal… His entire body was burning. He hoped Prime and his cavalry would arrive soon, because if they didn't… He hadn't apologized to Prowl; hadn't even had an opportunity to do it. Primus knew he wanted to… '_He says he doesn't blame you, but it was a mistake, and it can't happen again,'_ Bumblebee's soft voice echoed in his memory. Jazz regretted a lot of things in his life, and, without doubt, what he had done in that canyon was the most regrettable of them all…

His thoughts were interrupted by a chorus of 'Transform!' cries, and by a single stern voice that shouted, "Disperse, men! Fire at will!"

It was the voice that belonged in the quiet of the headquarters, the voice Jazz wasn't expecting to hear…

Next thing he knew, two white hands were on him, running over his chassis with gentle care, checking his injuries, and Jazz found himself looking up into Prowl's intense optics, finally _looking_ into them, for the first time in what seemed like forever…

_**x-x-x**_

Prowl was terrified. Jazz's fluids were all over him, and he was still leaking. This couldn't be good…

Jazz smiled up at him shakily with a strange shyness. "Nice day ta get fragged, huh?" the saboteur murmured awkwardly. And Prowl didn't know what to say, suddenly finding himself unable to speak.

"Let's get you to safety," he finally uttered, throwing one of Jazz's arms around his neck and lifting the saboteur by the waist. He tried to ignore the third-in-command's pained moans as they moved across the battlefield, away from the fight.

"Aw, such a nice party we have going here," Starscream's sharp voice came from right behind them. Prowl had the time to only register the threat, before his legs got burned with a fire of angry pain, the heat of a blaster ray flogging him like an energy-whip.

He fell to the ground with his precious burden, both of them crying in agony.

Starscream let out a screeching laughter, glaring down at them with a disgusted look on his face, his weapons pointed at the pair.

"Say hi to Primus, suckers!" But instead of pulling the trigger, the seeker activated his heel turbines. They launched the Decepticon into the air, and the transformed jet released a long victorious shriek, soaring up into the sky and leaving the battlefield.

On the ground where he'd been standing laid a small black box. With a soft flick it released four mechanical supports and drilled them deep into the hard dry soil, stationing itself firmly in place.

A cryo-bomb.

The two Autobots watched in horror as the monitor lit up, showed '30 clicks,' and began its inexorable countdown, each digit change marked with a short high-pitched beep.

"Oh no… Oh slag… Ya gotta go, Prowl. Leave me an' get the frag outta here!" Jazz started mumbling quickly and heatedly.

Prowl was trying to get over the shock of the situation, his processor frantically calculating the probabilities, striving to find a solution for this problem, the one that did _not_ include leaving Jazz to die… It all had happened so fast…

He activated his comm. link, almost on autopilot. "Prowl to all units. A mid-range 'freezer' in my coordinates. Detonation in twenty-two clicks. Keep a safe distance. That's an order." He then grabbed Jazz tightly around his chest and started to drag them both away from the bomb as fast as he could, which was not fast at all, since neither of them could stand now.

"What- We can't make it, the two of us! Just drop me, ya slaggin' idiot!" Jazz fought weakly in Prowl's grip, trying to push the tactician away and loosing fluids even faster than before. "I'm a dead man, but ya still have time! Transform an' go! …For Primus' sake, Prowl…!"

"No!" the tactician growled, refusing to let go of him and stubbornly moving forward, even though he knew it was in vain. They were only several yards from the bomb, while the radius of the blast area would be no less than fifty. There was no way they could get to safety before it went off...

He kept crawling. Jazz was sobbing against him, calling him a thousand of names, begging, trying to make him leave, and the bomb's vicious beeps behind Prowl's back were starting to blend into one frantic hysterical sound.

He finally stopped, falling to the ground beside Jazz.

…They were going to die…

"Prowl… I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…" Jazz was muttering into his chest through his sobs, and Prowl didn't know if he was apologizing for getting injured, or for the canyon, or for something else… It didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore.

He grabbed Jazz's face with both hands and pressed their mouths together. He didn't care about 'why', he just wanted to feel Jazz's lips against his one last time, and he'd be slagged if he didn't allow himself this last weakness. And Jazz was kissing back, feverishly, hungrily, their glossas entwining in flaming desperation, and they were finally speaking one language, for the first time ever…

As the familiar feeling of burning insanity started to bloom inside Prowl's chest, he heard a soft click.

The beeping stopped.

He tore his lips from Jazz's and curled himself around the saboteur's broken body, shielding him as best he could.

A wave of freezing cold rose behind him and drove a thousand of icy needles into his back.

An endless nano-click of shattering pain – and then nothingness…

_**End of Chapter 3**_

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_**A/N:**_ _Man, was I crying while writing this... I'd love to read your comments/reviews. See you all, be safe meanwhile._


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N:**_ _As usual, you, my dear readers, are the best :) Thank you for such an emotional response to the last installment. Here is an update for you. Hugs to __**StormDracona**__ for her beta-help :)_

_**Warning:**_ _This chapter contains graphic description of violence, which could be quite disturbing. Just thought I'd give you a little heads up._

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_**Chapter 4**_

While staring up into the blue sky during the Decepticon attack, broken and torn inside and out, Jazz had almost come to terms with the thought of getting deactivated on that piece of hard ground dug through by the hail of bullets…

But Prowl had come for him. He'd literally placed himself between Jazz and his demise that day…

What a stupid mech. He should have left and saved himself, but he'd chosen to stay with him…

Jazz could deal with anything but that burning flame of guilt that would never let him rest, dead or alive. '_I'm sorry… I'm so sorry,'_ he'd kept sobbing, clutching at the tactician. He was so fragging _sorry_. For everything. For the crazy twisted fate that gave him the only chance for such a pitiful repentance when the indifferent beeps of a cryo-bomb were counting the last clicks of their lives…

And Prowl had answered with a kiss.

It had been both wonderful, and horrible.

Wonderful, because it was something Jazz had thought he'd never experience again with the mech he wanted more than anything else in the world; because it had been Prowl who'd started it; because it was speaking louder than any words could; because it was more powerful than a condescending 'I forgive you'.

Horrible, because behind it stood something that was stronger than Prowl's will, something that made the tactician do things he might not have wanted at all; because it was the first and probably the last _real_ thing he'd ever be able to share with the mech he loved.

That last click had seemed like an eternity. Their lips had parted, and suddenly, with processor-numbing terror, he'd realized that Prowl was shielding him, protecting his head with both white palms, pressing as close to him as he could… And he had been paralyzed then; he couldn't move, couldn't make a sound – he could only lay there in immobile, mute shock with his face tucked into Prowl's neck, as the bomb went off with a soft, deceptively gentle flick.

He remembered the pain.

The liquid nitrogen cloud had covered the two of them like a deadly suffocating blanket, pulling them into its agony-filled embrace. The only safe area was the ground he'd laid on, but his sides, his bullet-pierced arms and legs got burned with the freezing cold. But the strongest pain that he'd been feeling – the pain of helpless anguish and remorse – had been in his spark, because Prowl had taken the worst of it…

And he remembered the wetness.

Those had been his and Prowl's fluids, the testament of the damage they both had taken. During that torturous breem right after the blast, while Prowl's unresponsive body was lying on top of him, leaking its life-essence, while Jazz's sensors were still trying to fight the warnings and prevent his CPU from shutting down, his comm. link had burst with the shouts of his teammates. The help was near. With the last prayer on his unmoving lips for Prowl to stay functional, he'd off-lined…

Now, staring up into the metal ceiling of the Ark's med bay, with his limbs repaired and armor replaced, he felt more broken than ever. His body was whole and in working order again, but the pain remained.

_Why'd you do it, Prowl? _

Ratchet had told him the death rate among those who got in the direct line of a cryo-blast; one hundred percent. He'd added some scientific babbling about the cause of it and such, but Jazz wasn't listening anymore.

One hundred percent…

Several days after the explosion, the medical team was still working on Prowl. Jazz was allowed to leave his berth for a little while and take a look at him through the glass window of the operational room.

The still form of the tactician on the construction table was almost unrecognizable. Nearly eighty percent of his body was a misshaped mass of wires and metal. Prowl should have been dead by now, but life was still glowing in his deformed chest by some miracle.

Jazz could see Wheeljack entering the room, rolling a container with new parts to replace what was beyond repairs or missing completely. But really, what was the use of it if Prowl had only one spark in the whole Universe, and it was barely gleaming…?

The saboteur stood there silently, until Ratchet pulled a rank and ordered him to vanish and rest.

He'd been told that it would take a lot of efforts and faith to bring the tactician online – if he was ever going to come online at all.

Jazz could only keep praying, because he had nothing left to offer in the faith department.

_**x-x-x**_

They say some mechs have "dreams" and "nightmares"…

Prowl had never believed it. He'd never had one. It had always been a nano-click of empty oblivion, unencumbered with any kind of information, that separated the end of one day from the start of another.

They also say there is always the first time for everything…

His battered CPU had been constantly going through the failing reboot sequence, the usual procedure derailing each time and ending with a rush of mixed up data bits surfacing randomly in his memory banks in a hung background mode. The laughter of his creator giving him a ride on his back as a sparkling; the number '30' on a small display beeping into '29'; the meteorite shower slashing at the night sky over the city of Praxus; someone's flaming lips against his… Scraps and fragments that once used to make sense, colliding and overlaying. And all of it had been laced with signals of pain, pain, pain…

Until this very minute, when he was finally able to process what was happening to him, he didn't know what a nightmare was. Now he knew, because if this wasn't one, he had no idea what was.

"Morning, Prowl. You are more than welcome to join our humble community of the living," he heard Ratchet's sarcastic voice to his right. The medic sounded tired. He was probably low on his energon, too, as usual.

Prowl on lined his optics, knowing already that he was in the Ark's med bay. Ratchet was sitting near his berth, his optics dimmed, which suggested he was preserving his energy, which in turn meant he hadn't recharged in days.

_Was it that bad…? Yes, it was._

Prowl's logical module told him he shouldn't be online, because the correlation of probabilities assumed that the possibility of it equaled approximately-

"Jazz…" he rasped weakly.

"Functional. And already out of intensive care. Thanks to you," was the curt reply.

Something relaxed inside of Prowl, decreasing the hum of pain to the feeling of leaden tiredness. Come what may, he did what he had to. Jazz would live… Which left one more question unanswered.

"…Myself?"

Ratchet sighed heavily, his stare boring through the tactician. "I never thought I'd ever say this, Prowl, but your stupidity saved your life."

Prowl kept silent, not knowing what to say and, frankly, too weak to care, and the medic continued in a calm, almost detached voice.

"When the bomb went off, the pneumatically sprayed cloud of sub-zero liquid nitrogen was supposed to freeze and break your armor, then get to your spark and evaporate it, in under a click… Your spark survived," he made a weighty pause. "For whatever reason, in the moment of the blast it had been emanating far more heat than would be normal under any kind of circumstances." The medic crossed his arms on his chest skeptically. "We wouldn't be talking right now if it wasn't for the energy circulation anomaly you _failed_ to mention when we were leaving Cybertron for Earth."

Prowl offlined his optics. He was so fragged… It would have probably been better if he hadn't survived…

"Now, don't blow your circuits. I'm not here to harass you about the issue," Ratchet calmly noted. "I'm here to make a point. From now on, you are to report any glitches in your systems to me immediately. Prime needs his tactician in best shape at all times… And don't scare us all like that again," he added softly, with a friendly concern.

Prowl finally found strength to bring his optics back online and lock gazes with Ratchet. He didn't see any condemnation there, like he had been expecting. "Aye sir," he whispered with a somewhat relieved resignation.

"Now rest, you've lost a lot of energy. When you wake up you'll feel better," Ratchet stood from the chair heavily and headed for the door. "And, by the way, Prowl," the medic stopped in the doorway and half-turned to him with a small smile. "The blast killed the glitch. You're clean."

_**End of Chapter 4**_

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_**A/N:**_ _So, did this chapter ease your worries? :) I hope it did. Don't ask me where I got the idea of a cryo-bomb; I just typed whatever appeared in my crazy head. x_x It was totally made up, and probably scientifically arguable, but oh well, on the other hand, we have a healthy Prowl, which annihilates any faults of mine on that account, does it not? :D Your reviews are always appreciated and kept close to my heart. Take care; meet you in the next chapter._


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N: **__Please dont kill me, I bring an update! And huge thank-you to everyone who is reading and reviewing this story; I appreciate the attention of each and every one of you :) And hugs to__** StormDracona **__for her beta-reader's help ^_^_

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_**Chapter 5**_

Of all the things Jazz desperately wanted to hear, the most desired had to be Ratchet's grumpy, "Prowl's online."

The medic had offered no explanations as to how this could be possible; and, honestly, Jazz couldn't care less. The saboteur was rushing along the corridors of the Ark, feeling his spark jerking in his chest like from violent electroshocks.

_Prowl's online._

Hearing it made him light on his feet and highly uncomfortable at the same time. It meant a lot of things, good things – but also complicated ones.

Jazz realized suddenly that however this had ended – with Prowl's death or his full recovery – it would leave him guilty as hell anyways. The question was just what exactly he would be feeling.

Right now, he felt like a mech who had touched something pure and destroyed it. And this something was Prowl's trust and friendship. Nothing Prowl said now could possibly break this wall of hurt between them, because none of the tactician's words would be his free will. This fragged glitch meant no solution, no understanding. No future.

Standing on the threshold of Prowl's ward, watching the mech on the berth recharging peacefully, repaired from the awful damage he'd taken, Jazz felt unworthy to step inside. He felt dangerous to the lonely occupant of this room, because even though he'd never hurt Prowl intentionally, it would now only take him a glance to pose a threat to the stoic second-in-command. He didn't want that.

For the thousandth time he cursed himself, for having taken what didn't belong to him, for getting a taste of what could never be his. He was as much a slave as Prowl was, because his spark just wouldn't settle down and slagging get used to _not_ having the mech it craved…

After a moment of torturous hesitation, his digits let go of the doorpost, and his legs made a slow step forward.

The entire Universe be damned, he needed to see Prowl, needed to make sure he was fine and alright, before retreating to the shadows again to burn in his bitterness, this time for good.

_**x-x-x**_

Of all the things Prowl wasn't used to, the strangest one had to be waking up to the feeling of someone's touch…

One might think, for a sentient being who is considered a part of a developed society, it's a natural experience – to be touched. Not for him. For Prowl, any physical contact had always boiled down to necessity, such as engaging in hand-to-hand combat, or undergoing medical procedures… Intimacy as well, but the rarity of such occasions couldn't influence the overall statistics for him much; besides, he'd never had a mate to share a berth with longer than for several cycles, and as long as he could remember, he'd always recharged alone.

As his systems slowly rearranged themselves and entered active state, he allowed himself to simply listen to the sensation without indicating his being awake.

Those were the lightest of touches of someone's fingers to his right hand, one slow stroke after another.

There was warmth, and carefulness, and if he were asked, those touches seemed pensive, and a little bit absent.

He powered his optics silently to see _who_, and some part of him already knew the answer…

Yes, Prowl's gaze settled on the chiseled profile of the third-in-command sitting in a chair near his berth. Jazz's azure visor was dimmed as if he was in deep thought, and he seemed to be focused on some faraway spot no one but himself would have been able to see. The tactician's gaze slid lower, to Jazz's chestplates, to find the new armor there, polished and shining, clean of the enemy's bullets.

It had been such a desperate action on his, Prowl's, part – to try and cover Jazz from the explosion, and it had miraculously worked and saved the saboteur's life. It was also a miracle his own spark had survived, allowing him to actually see that black-and-white armor replaced.

'_In the moment of the blast __it had been emanating far more heat than would be normal under any kind of circumstances,'_ he remembered Ratchet's voice.

The kiss.

So simple…

Primus, the two of them got so unbelievably lucky there on that battlefield… Among all the decisions Prowl could have made then, he'd instinctively made the only one that could give them both the chance of getting out of it alive. He couldn't fathom the powers that caused him to do it, because at that time his actions seemed to have no reasoning behind them. A leap into nothingness, a farewell burst of insanity – and here he was, looking at Jazz, who was alive and well. And, for the first time ever, Prowl felt at ease.

Clean. He was finally clean. No need to be careful, to isolate himself. No need to be afraid…

His spark was well-functioning.

After vorns of battling with himself and hiding from others, it was such an odd and foreign feeling of freedom, overwhelming like euphoria.

He off lined his optics again, savoring the feel of Jazz's thumb that was caressing the outer side of his hand… He decided he could really get used to waking up like that.

Before he could analyze what he was doing, his hand flexed slightly, and his own thumb gave an answering stroke to the black fingers resting in his palm.

What he didn't expect was Jazz flinching visibly and breaking the tender contact with a startled expression on his visored face.

Their gazes met, and there was a click of uncomfortable silence before Jazz finally spoke.

"I- uh… Sorry, I'm just- glad ta see ya back…" The saboteur murmured softly. He attempted to show a smile, but failed, standing up from his chair awkwardly and putting a distance between them. "I- gotta go."

Try as he might, Prowl couldn't make his vocal processor work.

As he watched Jazz's quickly retreating back, he realized with astonishment that even though there were a lot of things in his life beyond his control and mental grasp that had always scared him, there was one among them that felt right.

He was clean.

And his spark was still-

…fluttering.

_**End of Chapter 5**_

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_**A/N: **__Thank you for reading. And, of course, I'd love to read your reviews/comments :) Be safe, see you in the next chapter._


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